


Something Else

by theoriginalzinc



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ballet Dancer!Jean, Choreographer!Levi, M/M, Professor!Hanji, also art students, art student!Marco, it's based on a school in nyc, other characters as dancers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoriginalzinc/pseuds/theoriginalzinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the notorious crossover between the Junior level drawing class and the dance school.</p>
<p>Marco struggles to keep his cool around his subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Else

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for Attack on Titan, first fic on AO3, first fic in like 3 years. 
> 
> Hopefully it doesn't suck.

“Rather than our typical life-drawing class next week, we’ll be heading for to Sina to observe a dance class. We’ll do that for both session next week, so be prepared for some active posing!” Professor Zoë (or Hanji, as she fervently asserted her students call her) announced as enthusiastically as she’d ever sounded (which was Just-Got-Your-Dream-Job-and-a-Billion-Dollars level at all times). 

Marco had heard of the assignment from upperclassman, and he’d also heard about the attitudes that he could be facing, depending on the class. There weren’t any real divas in the dance program, but the Sina School was pretty isolating, so the dancers tended to be a little way of outsiders. 

Marco’s 3-hour drawing class coincided with Sina’s Level 3 ballet class— it was mostly filled with Juniors, but a stray Sophomore could be picked out with a keen eye. Hanji instructed each student to choose a dancer— she wanted not one dancer to go unsketched. 

While Bertholdt and Reiner fought over the petite blond ballerina wearing a scowl that could wither even the freshest blossom (“Don’t worry boys, we’ll be switching dancers next class!”), Marco scanned the studio, trying to choose. Eventually he came upon one of the guys, a tall one with long limbs and sharp hazel eyes. His hair was dark, shaved on the sides, longer and blonder on the top. He was wearing sinfully tight leggings and a baggy tank top. 

“I’ll take him,” chimed Marco, attempting (but more than likely failing) to sound casual. Connie sniggered beside him, muttering a “nice pick” before focusing on his own ballerina— a beautiful brunette with a wide smile 

The 3 hours breezed by, Marco drawing more fluidly and freely than he’d ever. As Hanji observed his sketchbook at the end of class, she smirked and offered him a “nice job, huge improvement.” He blushed, snatching his sketchbook back and scurried from the studio as fas as he could. 

* * *

The next class, Hanji insisted that the students choose different dancers. Reiner and Bertholdt smiled sunnily to one another, last class’s conflict resolved. 

Marco pouted for a few minutes, upset that his favorite subject (decided after one session) would not be his that day. He ended up drawing a striking ballerina, her slick black hair pulled back into an immaculate bun, long eye lashes framing glittering black eyes. She was gorgeous, yes, but Marco couldn’t help but glance at the other dancers. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he ended up filling two pages with drawings of the as-yet unnamed dancer with golden eyes. 

When it came time for his sketchbook to be reviewed, Marco sheepishly slid the thing into Hanji’s hands. He couldn’t look as she flipped through it. She grinned devilishly anyway. 

“Wonderful, Marco,” she beamed. “I think these last two pages are some of your best work.” 

Marco almost choked. Coughing, he mustered a “thank you, professor” before escaping through the door, a shouted “Hanji!” chasing him. 

* * *

Marco strolled into the drawing studio on Monday slugglishly, cursing the room for even existing. He chugged through class, ignoring Connie’s chirp about his newfound brown-haired beauty. After class, Hanji pulled (yes, physically tugged) him aside. 

“Listen, Marco, the student art exhibition is coming up in a few weeks. I think you should show in it.” 

Marco blanched. He’d considered submitting something, but he wasn’t sure what. 

“Okay, prof- er, Hanji. What do you propose I submit?” 

“A new piece, of course.” (“Of course”? What was that supposed to mean?)

“All right… I’m assuming you have a suggestion?” Her intent was written all over her face, smug smile broad across her cheeks. 

“Yes, you see, I went ahead and organized a few more sessions at Sina for you. I was very impressed with your drawings of that dancer. I’d like for you to go back and really focus on him, take some more sketches, and then bring something into a completed piece. Whatever medium you’d like, just with him as the subject.” Her eyes glinted under her glasses.

“Oh, um, sure, ok,” stuttered Marco, trying to prevent another coughing fit. “I can do that.” Oh, he most certainly could. 

“Oh and Marco, I’ll be grading this new piece to make up for the lost class time, so be sure to have it completed by the submission deadline.” 

“Of course, prof- er, Hanji.” He dashed from the room then, leaving a very entertained Hanji in his wake. 

* * *

When he turned round at Sina on Thursday, he was met with the very short and very stern choreographer. He showed him to where he could sit (a small chair squeezed into the corner of the studio). “I need the whole space to work on the dance,” he explained, and if it was supposed to sound apologetic, it was lost on Marco. 

He noticed him immediately. He was wearing leggings again ( _Those legs_ , Marco groaned internally, fighting off a blush), this time paired with a tight black v-neck. He was smiling haughtily at another dancer, this one a young man with glowing teal eyes and a choppy haircut. The two moved closer to where Marco sat, the pair watching as some of the ballerinas rehearsed their part.

“I don’t know why he chose _you_ , Jean, you’ve got a fucking horseface,” spat green-eyes, scowling at the other dancer. “You’re not even a soloist.” 

The blond, finally identified as Jean, “Well, we all know how you got the solo, Eren, and it wasn’t because of your fantastic technique.” He glanced quickly toward the choreographer, who was thankfully focused on the ballerinas in the middle of the floor, and wiggled his eyebrows. 

The comment earned a cackle from a tall girl beside the pair. “Yeah, I’m sorry we’re not as _talented_ as you.” 

Eren’s nostrils flared, “You know what—“ 

“Eren! Mikasa! Take your first position. Jean, Ymir, Armin, Sasha, join on your marks.” 

“Yes, Levi!” shouted Eren as he hurried to the middle of the studio, joined by the stunning black-haired ballerina Marco had sketched during his second session. Jean snickered, earning him a sharp look from Levi. 

“Something funny, Kirstein?” The words froze the air around them, the icy chill even hitting Marco as he tried furiously to capture the look of surprise and regret painted on Jean’s face. 

“I’m just so excited to rehearse, sir,” replied Jean, flashing a confident smile. 

The rest of the rehearsal went by without further incident, yet Marco was enthralled nonetheless. 

* * *

After two more sessions, Marco approached Jean for the first time. He was putting his shoes away in his bag in the corner. Marco took a moment to appreciate the view before quietly clearing his throat. “Um, excuse me?” _Shit, did he even hear me?_

Jean turned around and stood up fully. Registering who’d addressed him, he smirked. “Yeah?” 

“I’m, uh, going to need to have you, uh, pose for me? Like a regular posing session. I just need to get some more details, so, yeah…” Marco took a deep breath and stared awkwardly at the dancer. 

“Ok,” chirped Jean, still smiling. “When do you need me?” 

“Well, the drawing studio is open on Fridays after 3:45, so if that works for you.” 

“Sounds great.” 

“Do you want to do next week, then? Tomorrow’s a little short notice—“

“Tomorrow’s fine.” 

Marco blinked, then nodded. “Okay, tomorrow at the drawing studio at 3:45. I’ll, um, see you there, I guess?” He took a step back and started to turn around to leave. 

“Wait, before you go, take my number, in case something weird happens.” Jean rummaged through his bag before pulling out his cell. He tapped through it for a few seconds before shoving it toward Marco. “Just put your number in and I’ll text you my name, okay?” He smiled even more brightly. 

Marco did as instructed and handed the phone back over. Jean glanced at it briefly before looking back up. “Marco, huh? Nice to meet you.” Marco swallowed thickly. He hadn’t even realized that the two hadn’t been properly introduced yet. He didn’t say anything, just left the room in a hurry, leaving a giggling Jean in his dust. 

* * *

Jean strolled into the drawing studio at 3:48 that Friday, dance bag hanging from his shoulder. He was wearing a Sina School sweatshirt and university sweatpants, feet tucked into pristine-looking sneakers. Marco was seated at one of the drawing tables, tapping his fingers on the tabletop while scrolling through Facebook on his phone. 

“Hey.” 

Marco almost jumped out of his skin. Flustered, he managed a “Hey” back as he clambered to stand up. 

“So I brought my dance stuff, I didn’t know what you’d need me to do,” Jean said as he set his bag down on one of the other tables. 

“Oh, uh, I just need you to hold some poses for me. I’ve already got a rough sketch, so I can just show you.” Marco thumbed through his sketchbook. When he got to the page with the first pose, he handed it over to Jean. “This is the first one; I have three total.” 

Jean took his time observing the drawing, a smile spreading across his face. “You make me look so good, Marco,” he murmured cheekily. He handed the sketchbook back to a blushing Marco before ridding himself of his bulky layers. Underneath he wore the same leggings he’d had on when Marco had first seen him and a plain black tank top. “Right over here?” he asked, motioning to the platform at the middle of the room. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Cool, okay, just tell me when you’re ready.” 

Marco sat down and grabbed his pencil. “Go ahead.” 

Jean eased into the pose. Marco began to draw furiously. 

* * *

30 minutes and two poses later, Marco stood up. “Um, if you could just sit here.” He motioned to the chair across from him at his drawing table. “I just need some facial details.” Jean nodded and slipped into the chair. 

“Which way should I be facing?” 

“Look toward the window, chin up just a little bit.” Jean adjusted accordingly. “Good.” 

The light bounced off of Jean’s cheeks and made his eyes glitter, the golden hue sparkling beneath thick eyelashes. Marco set down his pencil after a few minutes and swallowed. “Can I— Can I take a picture?” 

Jean looked sideways at him. Before he could say anything, Marco sputtered out a “For reference purposes, of course!!”, which elicited a jingling laugh from Jean. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” he chuckled, flitting his eyes back to the window. 

Marco snapped the picture with his phone shakily. He had to retake it a few times to account for the blurriness. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking up his pencil once more. 

* * *

Marco finished up at 5:20. He packed his things as Jean put his sweatshirt and sweatpants back on, head swimming with thoughts of what the dining hall would be serving that night ( _Friday nights always suck_ ). Jean broke through his grumbling with a question. 

“Do you want to go to dinner?” 

Marco whipped around, spooked. Despite the amount of time he’d devoted to the dancer, he’d almost forgotten he was there. 

“Uh, sure, I was just about to head to the dining hall.” 

Jean grimaced and shook his head wildly. “No, no, no, _not_ at the dining hall.” He smiled lopsidedly. “I know a really good ramen place we can go to. Pretty cheap, too.” 

“Oh, uh, okay, sure. Sounds good.”  

The dancer opened the door and gestured for Marco to pass through. “Alright, let’s go, then.” 

* * *

10 minutes later found them walking down 57th street toward 6th ave. It wasn’t too cold that day, just the chilliness of early spring. The walk had been pretty quiet thus far, only a few words exchanged about directions and other ramen places. It wasn’t until they made it to the restaurant and had been seated that any real conversation started. 

“So,” began Jean, “you’ve been drawing me for a couple of weeks now, but we hardly even know each other.” 

“Yeah,” replied Marco ( _So lame)_. 

“I know you’re a fine arts student, but, like, what exactly do you want to do with it?” 

“Well I’m technically an illustration major. I want to do storyboard art for animation, I think,” he answered. “What about you, and the dancing thing?” 

“Ah, yes, ‘the dancing thing,’ you took the words right out of my dad’s mouth,” said Jean, voice dripping mirthfully. “Well, I’m trying to get signed to a company—“ sip of water “but all Sina students double major with something _academic_ , so I’m also majoring in economics to ensure some kind of job security. Would’ve done business, but dancers can’t be in Sina and Garrison Business, so.” 

“Do you have a specialty? In dancing, I mean.” 

Jean made a face at him. “I thought you would’ve guessed. Ballet, obviously.” 

Marco blushed. “Of course.” Their waiter approached then, rescuing him from further embarrassment. Jean ordered katsu don, which is not ramen at all, despite the fact that he was touting this place as a great ramen spot (“What? I was feeling the rice today. Bite me.”). Marco opted for the Hakata ramen (“You told me there was ramen, so I’m getting ramen.”)

“So where are you from, Marco?”

“Jinae. It’s in Jersey.” 

“Really? Didn’t peg you for a Jersey boy.” 

“Oh, well, Jinae’s _pretty_ Jersey. It’s on the shore, a real tourist spot. Real nice beaches.” Marco smiled, images of his hometown flashed behind his eyes. “Where are you from?” 

Jean contemplated the question for a moment. “Well, if you want the long story, Germany, but let’s just stick with Chicago for now.” 

Marco frowned, peeved. “Hey now, you can’t say something like that and not explain.” 

Jean grinned. “Too bad. You’ll have to wait.” 

Marco only glowered. 

“Anyway, how old are you?”

“21. I’m a Junior. You?”

“Oh, so old. I’m only 19, just a wee Sophomore.” Jean laughed. 

Marco perked up. “You’re a Sophomore in the Level 3 class? That’s really impressive, Jean.” 

It was Jean’s turn to blush then. “Um, thanks… it’s not a big deal, there are a few other Sophomores.”

Their food came then. The conversation continued easily, awkwardness banished by good food and good company. 

* * *

When it came time to pay, the waiter dropped their check off before Marco could ask for it to be split. 

“I have cash if you wanna do it that way?” Marco offered, but Jean ignored him completely, slapping a card down on the table. 

“No. We’re not splitting it. I’m paying,” he insisted, looking seriously into Marco’s eyes, sending him into a fuss. 

“You don’t have to pay for me!” Marco protested. He thumbed through a few bills before thrusting them in Jean’s direction. “Take it.” 

Jean snickered. “I appreciate it, Marco, but it wouldn’t be much of a date if we split the bill, would it?” 

Marco blanched. There were a few beats of silence before he responded, entirely too loudly,  “Well, in that case, allow me to pay!” He snatched the check from under Jean’s credit card and held it hostage in his palm with a couple of bills until the waiter returned to pick it up. 

“Do you need change, sir?” inquired the waiter softly. 

“No.” Marco was sure he was blushing madly, but he tried to maintain his composure. The waiter thanked him and walked away. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.” Jean was struggling to hold in his laughter. He barely made it outside before he burst into a fit of giggles. 

Marco looked at him sharply. “What?” 

“You’re something else, Marco.” 

* * *

Marco worked like mad to complete his piece— a triptych —  before the deadline. He finished the pencil drawings, the left and right pieces, early. They were sketches of Jean dancing, large wings spreading from his back. It was the middle piece, a painting, that was giving him trouble. It wasn’t that it was difficult— quite the opposite, really, especially because he had such easy access to his model. It was just a large volume of work (“Why did I choose so many colors and layers??”). It was the pose of him looking toward the window, light playing upon his features. 

When it was complete, Marco forbade Jean to see it. In fact, he’d banned him from looking in the last week of work. 

When he brought it to Hanji, she broke out into a face-wide smile. “I’m certain this will get featured,” she told him. He smiled weakly at her while he thanked her. He remembered not to call her professor this time, so he walked out of the studio free from verbal projectiles. 

When the exhibition opened only a week later, Marco’s piece, titled “Wings of Freedom,” had a prominent position among the other artworks. He tried his best to avoid standing too close to it during the opening, opting instead to observe his classmates’ work. Jean arrived 30 minutes later, held up by a rehearsal. Marco made sure to meet him at the entrance to the gallery. He wanted to be there to see Jean’s reaction. 

When Jean first spotted the piece, the world slowed. He positively _gaped_ at it, then gaped at Marco. “This is…” He was at a loss, all speech stolen from him. He stepped toward Marco until he was just inches away. “Too much,” he whispered. “You’re something else, Marco.” He leaned in, and the world truly did stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Did it suck? 
> 
> Check y/n in the comments. 
> 
> k thanks


End file.
